Assassin's Creed
by MidnightRhymer
Summary: Brona hadn't always been a killer. She was once an elfling, dreaming of days as a warrior, wondering if she would be forced to marry a nobleman. That all changed when she was kidnapped. As time passed, she became just another assassin in the world of men.
1. Preface

Preface- Life As She Knows It

_ I am an assassin._

Brona Ross felt her heart clenched as a pair of blue eyes took in her appearance. She had allowed herself to get close to them, and one of their number had been targeted.

_I feel no fear._

It seemed as if Aragorn's gaze pierced her through, looking at the weapons strapped to her side.

_I feel no pain._

The small amount of comfort she had been allowed began to fade away entirely as he moved to take them from her. She was going to have to kill him.

_I feel no anger._

Aragorn, inches away, reached for the daggers in her hands.

_I fear neither death nor life._

She stumbled back, not wanting to hurt him, helpless not to.

_I am an assassin._

As she saw the gates open, and blonde hair enter, her heart locked itself in place.

_Death is my only companion. Fear, my only friend._

She couldn't do it; not even to save her sister. She was weak.

_I am an assassin._

_ I do not fail._


	2. Chapter One  The Beginning

_I could give a long speech about how the praise of readers is the food for savage writers, but I think a better gift would be the next chapter. So, without further ado, here it is!_

_Take from it what you will_

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><p>Chapter One- The Beginning<p>

Brona Ross was taken from her home in Greenwood days before she came of age. Her father was a "retired" palace guard, her mother a similarly retired handmaiden to the queen. Brona and her sister, Sein were forced to watch their mother and father die before they were taken away to the Blue Mountains. Sein was chained in the dungeons, the only thing Brona had left that was worth caring for. If Brona behaved and studied well, Sein was treated well. If Brona misbehaved, Sein was beaten, raped, tortured, or any combination therin. It didn't take Brona long to learn the arts of assassination, torture, and murder. As soon as she had them as mastered as her elfin arts, her captor taught her the Assassin's Creed

_I am an assassin._

_I feel no fear._

_I am an assassin_

_I feel no pain. _

_I am an assassin._

_I feel no anger._

_I am an assassin._

_I fear neither death nor life._

_I am an assassin._

_Death is my only companion. Fear, my only friend._

_I am an assassin._

_I do not fail._

They had begun with fear. Her Master, called Ohtar, had begun with simple things, like locking her in rooms full of spiders or dropping her from large heights. He had then progressed to emotional fears, making things like loss and hope foreign to her. Emotion of any kind became irrational, uncalcuable; just a variable. Ohtar had then moved on to pain. For days, he would subject her to physical pain until she had such a high tolerance that she did not blink when an arrow burried itself up to the fletching in her. She had gone so far as to impale portions of herself on her Master's sword simply for the pleasure of victory. Then, they dealt with pain of the mind. It was easier, because Brona had long ago learned that emotion made you as weak as it made you strong. The love she felt for her sister was harbored in a cage, only to be unleashed when she truly needed it. Ohtar had, instead of completely drilling her into a state void of emotion, moved on to the issue of anger. Using anger to drive actions was rash, and there was no room in an assassin's life for rash decision making.

It had progressed until Brona had no personal passion or interest. Everything she was had been buried beneath the calm, stoic exterior of an assassin, and she had been given her final test.

"Go now to Gondor. You will kill Legolas Greenleaf, prince of Mirkwood. If you are undiscovered, stay there. I will release your sister when you complete this task," Ohtar said sharply. He threw a book of valum parchment at her containing details of all her previous assassinations and her new one.

"You will have to get another one of these soon," Brona said wryly, despite the emotionless tone to her voice.

"Work on your inflection. The king will notice if you appear off as he has encountered assassins before," Ohtar said by way of dismissal.

_None of them were elves like me._

As such, three days after her target had been thoroughly researched and reviewed, she had left the comfort of familiarity in the fortress of the Blue Mountains and had ridden out only to discover a band of four halflings and a wizard riding on the same road she would have been taking. One of the halflings she recognized as her only friend in such parts (indeed, in any parts), and she felt suddenly very uncomfortable. When she was with Pippin, she was able to forget that she was an assassin for a time. How would he react if he discovered she was a murderer?

"Dunmhari?" the small halfling asked, looking at her from the back of the wagon. "Dunmhari!"

Brona felt her heart clench as she lifted her cloaked head to see the hobbit. "Pippin? What brings you so far from home?"

The wagon stopped, and the old wizard leaned out over the edge to see her seated atop her black stallion, Contuirt. His gaze seemed to pierce her through, but Brona ignored it in favor of gazing at Pippin.

"We're going to Gondor for the king's wedding!" Pippin said jubilently.

Brona tried not to feel fear as she put on a mask of a smile. "I wasn't aware he was getting married."

"Then were do you go on this ill traveled road?" Gandalf asked darkly, for she knew it was Gandalf by the fire in his voice.

"I have business in the forest of Ithilien," she said, her demeanor changing instantly. She had told Pippin long ago that she didn't follow the principal that any friend of his was a friend of hers. He knew first hand that she was slow to trust.

"Why do we not travel there together?" a dark haired hobbit, one who Brona assumed was Frodo Baggins, said, trying to mediate.

"You would not be able to keep up," Brona replied.

As if to illustrate her point, she whispered a command to Contuirt, who took off like the wind while she raised her arms, feeling as though she were flying. Her command of body and mind was absolute, and it was rare that she allowed herself such indulgences as challanging four hobbits and a wizard to a race. It was nice, in a way. It allowed her to lose herself to the elements before she found herself immersed in work again, unable to surface because every assassination brought her closer to her sister's freedom, closer to her ability to turn the point of the sword on herself.

That thought took the fun out of everything, and she urged Contuirt on. The horse was bred for endurance, and could run for months without getting tired. Straight riding, it was a month to Minas Tirith. Brona had no intentions of stopping, seeing as she would have to dye her white hair yet again to keep up apperances now that she knew Pippin was going to be in the city. She had been hoping to avoid that.

_Just goes to show; an assassin isn't meant to have friends._

_**Pip isn't the friend of an assassin. He's the friend of an elf.**_

Regardless of her intentions of not stopping, the orcs who she had slain to get their staining blood had put up a very brutal fight. So, in addition to cleaning her clothes in the river, Brona dyed her hair a vicious crimson, a very natural color for an elf of her age. She also took a sheet of valum and composed a message to the king, written in her finest hand, warning him of orcs that were on the move, banding together unnaturally. Her words were very true, as she had seen many orcs as of late since she had begun leaving the mountain stronghold again, looking for portraits of her elfin target. In the thousands of years she had been held captive, she no longer had any idea who the current prince of Mirkwood was. She remembered a time when _Thranduil_ was the crown prince of Greenwood. She had known through her secret scholarly pursuits that she devoted anxious time to, so as to not appear totally unaware of the events of the past, that Greenwood had become Mirkwood after Sauron's occupation. She also knew that this Legolas had been a member of the Fellowship, having fought at Helm's Deep, Minas Tirith, and the Black Gate of Mordor.

_Pippin's quite the talker once you get him drunk enough,_ she chuckled to herself as she rose out of the water, her hair permanently red until she went to town with her bleaching soaps that took all the color out of it. Her hair hadn't always been such a bland shade of white; it had once been as red as it was now. However, in the need for changing apperances, white was the best possible color; easy to change and manipulate. Drying herself off with a towel, she didn't hear the hoof beats of a great army of horses until she realized she was stopped on a very awkward side of the fords of Isen, seated right in the middle of the gap of Rohan, straddling the Rohirrim, in a way. She clothed herself quickly, saddled her horse and pulled him into the trees at the foot of the mountains, praying that the Rohirrim would not notice her.

If not for the wolf, she was certain they wouldn't have.

As it happened, a great blue wolf had been tracking her from the mountains, curious as to her mission as she had been his friend for many years. When he saw the impending danger, he growled, leaping out to fight the entire Rohirrim blindly, as animals are wont to do when instinct takes over. Brona leapt out of hiding, showing real emotion for the first time in centuries.

"What news from the Mark?" she called, distracting them. Contuirt came out after her, and she smiled plesantly enough, despite the hand-made arrow pointed at the heart of the leader of the Rohirrim.

"Put down your bow and arrow so that we might speak quickly enough," he said, and, although every ounce of warrior and assassin instinct told her not to, Brona dropped her arm, putting the arrow and bow back in their places, although she was not as docile as she might have appeared. Concealed beneath her arm guards were a pair of leathal daggers attached to a spring, ready to flip out and back before anything could be done.

"What has the Rohirrim out so far so late?" she asked, every nerve in her body on fire from adrenaline should she have to kill the Rohirrim.

"We were tracking a band of orcs, but they appear to have been killed and drained of blood. Did you see anything?"

Brona was glad that her research habits had paid off. It allowed her to think up a quick and plausible story. "I saw wargs of some kind over their carcasses. I killed the uruks, but I left quickly enough. I had no desire to encounter more."

"What allows so fair a lady to be so skilled with blade and bow?" one of the other riders asked.

Brona pulled back her hair, revealing her ears. "I fought in the first war. Alas, I was too far away to be reached for the second. The peace of the mountains in the north is a lusty call."

The Rohirrim bought it. Their leader bowed to her shakily, unaware that they had had a hero in their midst. As it stood, it wasn't far from the truth. Ohtar had allowed her to hone her skills in the army of Elrond, meaning that she had experianced first hand what the Lord of Mordor was capable of. She had returned only after her first six week stay in Rivendell, most of which was spent unconcious. She had left the day after awakening, never to be seen again, so the healer-elf thought. She highly doubted Elrond would recognize her, warped by Ohtar's influence and the scars of many close encounters as she was, but she would have to take special care to stay away from him. Awren Undomiel, betrothed of the King, was his daughter, after all, and she couldn't risk meeting him or her in a dark alleyway somewhere.

She mounted her steed in silence, the Rohirrim having left her to the wistful memories of a time when she had been so much more than a cold blooded killer hell bent on ridding the world of all life if only to see her sister free again. She knew that she was free never to return; she didn't have to keep going back to Ohtar. However, Sein had no choice, and her every action was subtly influenced by her desire to see her sister, her beloved sister free. Ohtar no doubt expected her to fail, but, after all, he'd never said that Legolas of Mirkwood had to stay dead, and Brona knew of several ways to kill him and bring him back; all she had to do was win his trust.

It was fortunate that Brona had been training herself to block Ohtar's presence from her mind. There were whole periods where she could hear nothing but sweet melodic silence from her mind; the rest of the time was riddled with a fuzzy voice trying to reach her. She blamed it on distance if he asked.

There were six weeks until the king's wedding to Arwen Undomiel, and Brona had a plan. Granted, it wasn't as organized as she needed it to be, but she knew that her services were invaluable to Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King Elessar. All she needed in return was her sister, and she would serve him until she died, unable to breathe any longer, unable to raise her sword to strike down her foe.

She was an assassin, after all.

When Brona first set her gaze upon the gates of the White City, two days before the wedding, she felt her breath hitch. Three years ago, the gates had been stained black with the blood of orcs and men, torn through in the haste to erradicate the world of men. And, yet, they had been subtly, beautifully ressurected.

Immediately inside the gate, she was greeted to the sight of about ten guards, all of whom were pointing spears at her. She could have wiped them out easily, extinguishing their lives instantly, but her mission would require her to earn these people's trust, despite her sorted past. The message, of course, was only a cover story, which she offered the guards.

"I come from a colony of elves located in the blue mountains of the North. My name is Lady Brona and I come bearing a message for the king from my people."

"Certainly you do not feel such a beautiful _elleth_ is a threat?" came a soft, yet commanding voice.

Brona swooned slightly at hearing her native Sindarin. Ohtar only spoke common tongue, and she had missed the sweeping beauty of Sindarin greatly. Hearing it spoken by such a gentle, beautiful voice was much appreciated, too.

"_Lle i yaara ohtar en ed i Rohirrim,_ (You must be the ancient warrior spoke of by the Rohirrim)" he said, reading her mind.

"Oh, so my horsebound companions have been through already or are you just that swift upon the horse? I only passed them four and a half weeks ago," Brona heard herself say in common tongue, allowing herself for the first time to refuse to speak Sindarin when given the chance. She was wary of the elf, knowing that he might be her target. Given what she knew of Thranduil, the elf before her could easily be his son.

"I must be swift indeed. They passed you at the Gap of Rohan, yes?" he asked, leading her horse through the city.

"Aye, they did," she said quietly. And, under her breath, "_Ni raibh siad an-deas ar cheachtar._ (They weren't very nice, either.)"

"I have never before encountered an elf who can speak Sindarin and Eilimint," the elf said as they crested the top of the hill.

Brona dismounted mechanically, unaware of the fact that her faithful steed was being led to the stalls by a pair of attendents even as she shouldered her bags; her focus was on the massive garden before her. She had never once seen such beauty, especially not in the mountains. She recognized many of the plants as native to her Mirkwood, even though it had been called Greenwood when she last saw it.

_Don't get distracted. You have to find the King._

"I had heard that the city was beautiful, but I have never cared much for the beauty of stone-masonry and carving. This... is something I did not expect. I believe the surprise makes it all the more beautiful," she said softly, longing to reach out and touch the rose bush before her. She restrained herself, knowing that if she could only get the king to see reason, perhaps she could even come to be allowed to live in the city-tower. "As much as I desire to simply walk among such a lovely garden, I must see the king."

"So urgent is your message?" the elf asked.

"So urgent are the tidings I bring. The message itself is... almost utterly unimportant," she said softly.

"Then let us go to the king's chambers."

"Legolas, _mellon nin_," King Elessar said, and Brona mentally smacked herself. _I told you so!_ "Who is this?"

"My name is Brona Ross. I come from the land of Mirkwood, except when I knew it, it was called Greenwood. When I was soon to be of age, a hooded rider came to my family's home on the outskirts of the realm. He burned my home and took myself and my sister away to his fortress. If I... behaved well, my sister was treated well. If I behaved poorly... you can only imagine," she began softly, her gaze never wavering. "Ohtar, he called himself. He set about training me in weapons and poisons; the tools of an assassin."

The blonde elf who had caringly escorted her to the top drew his knives, but did not attack.

"I have not come here to kill you, King of Man, or your wife. I don't think I have the heart to kill one who once showed me kindness. My master, however, has assigned me to kill the Prince of Mirkwood, an elf whose father also showed me kindness once, although it was long ago and I have changed much," Brona said, quelching the guards' fear and inspiring a new one. "I have done great things in the name of freedom and never before has Ohtar asked me to kill an elf. Considering my options, I have very few, but I have to try. I offer you my services, my fealty, my alligeance; all I ask in return is the chance to free my sister."

"And how will you do so without killing my friend?" the King asked softly.

"Ohtar said he had to die. He did not say that he had to _remain_ dead," Brona replied, a kind of wicked gleam in her eyes. "There are many ways to kill a person and be able to revive them. Many... too many... I have experianced first hand."

"Is there any other way to free her?"

"I cannot best him and I was trained by him. He has mithril sewn into his skin, preventing him from being killed easily."

"If we have not heard of your presence before now, you must be very skilled. Why turn over a new leaf?" Legolas asked, relaxing his stance slightly.

"When I was but an elfling, my father used to spin long yarns about brave princes and princesses who fought evil without a thought to themselves. I never thought I would encounter one. Once upon a time, however, a great elf Prince once saved me. I was traveling back to my home along the outskirts of the forest when a band of orcs attacked. If he had not dispatched them and taken me to a healer I would be dead. I know not if this would have been a better or worse fate than what befell me after, but I am thankful that he saved me, otherwise it would have been my sister in my position," Brona said softly. "It was your father, Prince Legolas."


	3. Chapter Two A Plan Plan A

_**Guess what time it is?**_

_**Ok, not Adventure Time, but it is Update Time. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, and, as a present, here is chapter 2, no strings attached... unless you get hooked, then there are plenty.**_

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><p>Chapter Two- A Plan (Plan A)<p>

_Patience is the greatest asset an assassin has. No matter how rushed your victims are, an immortal assassin has a limitless amount of time to wait._ It had been her first lesson after she gained the creed. Ohtar had then proceeded to order Brona to shoot a humming bird when its wings were down, between her own heart beats. It had truthfully been a culmination of analytical skills and patience, but her surperior senses were already heightened and she had needed only to get the timing of a humming bird's wing beats. She had shot with one arrow, hit the humming bird, and killed it, all without a flicker of emotion. Inside, she had wreathed in agony at the death of such a benevolent creature. Inside, she wreathed with agony every time she killed, but she could not bring herself to regret it. Her sister was still hoping to taste free air again because of her.

"How can we be sure that you speak the truth?" Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood and son of a once-upon-a-time savior of a now assassin, asked darkly. "How can we be assured that you aren't here to kill Aragorn?"

Brona rolled her eyes and allowed a dagger to drop into her hand from its sheath. She spun once, released, and found it an inch from the king's head. "He would already be dead if I had been assigned to kill him."

King Elessar pulled the knife from the wood behind him with some difficulty (the blade was ten inches long and eight inches were buried) and examined it carefully. The edge was sharp, smooth, clean. The weapon was obviously well cared for, despite its simplicity. It bore a handle of elven glass wrapped tightly in leather. The hilt was simplistic as well, elven glass giving way to metal as if they had been forged together. However, there was a strange metal in joint, although Aragorn's unskilled eyes could not be sure what kind it was.

As if he had been called, Gimli stormed into the room, looking for Legolas. However, he stopped short at the woman standing defiantly within a circle of guards. "What in the name of the Arkenstone is going on here?" he shouted. Gimli was known for his soft spot towards women.

"What would you say this metal is on the joint of the elven glass and the blade?" Aragorn said, handing the dagger to the dwarf.

"I'd say it's mithril," Gimli said. "Matter of fact, I'd say the whole blade is mithril. Blue mountain mithril, none the less."

"You have good eyes, Master Dwarf," Brona said softly.

"Who crafted it?" Gimli asked, awe in his voice.

"I did," she whispered. "The same with almost all of the weapons I posess, and there are a great number of them."

"What service could you offer? I do not need an assassin," Aragorn said, handing the knife back to her after he snatched it from Gimli.

"But you need someone who can identify assassins. If you are planning on taking back land Gondor lost long ago, you'll need someone who can infiltrate and return undetected. I can do that. I can join your guard; invisible protection wherever you need it. You'd never know I was there."

"How can we be sure you won't turn on us?"

"If you're asking where my loyalties lie, I long ago decided that I would rather farm my services out where they'd be useful than use them for clandestine purposes. I do not desire death and destruction like most. As for my loyalties to Ohtar... the man... to... what he did to my sister is unforgivable. I may return to kill him anyway, just to say I tried."

"What makes you so certain that you can't kill him?" Gimli asked.

"A millenia of patience," Brona replied darkly. "It was a part of my training and later a part of his attempt to keep my skills honed; we sparred often, and I could defeat him, but not kill him. The mithril plating covers his vital organs save for his neck, which he keeps protected by specially designed armor."

"Why not wait until he takes the mithril off?" Gimli offered.

"How can you take off that which has been sewn into your skin?" Brona asked. "He made my sister do it. He gave an orc a hot poker and told him to prod her with it if she stopped working or attempted to stab him. I spent six weeks treating the burns."

"You're a healer as well?" Aragorn sighed. He had the sneaking suspicion that her skills would never end.

"Another aspect of my skill sets. When you walk this line, you can rely on no one except yourself."

Aragorn nodded once before he gathered Gimli and Legolas and walked off to a corner. Brona was tempted to listen in, but she found that she'd rather wait it out. Dropping to the floor in a contemplative meditation position, she stretched the tendrils of her mind out, touching on the minds of the guards and calming them enough that they lowered their spears and stepped back, giving her breathing room in case the answer should be in the negative and she would have to kill Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, permanently. As soon as she had her breathing room, she tried to summon images of Greenwood, more specifically of her home. While images of Thranduil and the Palace Caves which she had only seen once were forever pristine in her mind, images of her home illuded her. She could see her _naneth_, her _ada_, and the path on the edge of Greenwood, but she could not recall the tree that she had called home. Her struggle was brought to an abrupt end by the clearing of a throat.

Brona stood, looking at Aragorn expectantly.

"We have decided that, should you be able to prove your usefulness, we will help you free your sister," Aragorn said softly. "If you can catch me, unawares and unguarded, and place a knife to my throat, we will consider you as skilled as you claim. You have a week."

Brona snorted before she shouldered her bags and walked out. _Too easy._

"What if she tries to kill you?" Legolas asked. "How can we be sure that she was being honest?"

Thranduil, the Elven King, stood up, silencing his son with a look. "I once met an _elleth_ on the outskirts of Greenwood. She had been attacked by a band of orcs and lay near dead. Most of them had been felled by her, but several more remained and they closed in on her. I was able to dispatch the remaining orcs, but I thought it would be too late. I took her to my father's healers in the Palace Caves and they were able to save her from being taken. I returned her to her family, and, three weeks later, their tree was burned to the ground. We assumed that she and her sister perished with their _naneth_ and _ada_. It seems this is not so."

"What makes you so sure, _ada_?"

"No other elf has hair like that, my son."

"I have to admit, it is a strange coloring. Even in Imladris you don't see it. Do you think she could have dyed it to suit her purpose as an assassin?" Aragorn asked thoughtfully.

"Even if she had, the spark of life is still there. It has diminished somewhat, but it's still there," Thranduil said softly, fondly almost. "If she had continued in Greenwood, I would have had her come to the palace. She's an excellent smith."

"She said she made all her weapons herself."

"It doesn't surprise me. Her father had a close friendship with the dwarves of Erebor. At first, I assumed it was they who killed him when he began making weapons for me."

"Are you certain it is her, King Thranduil?" Aragorn asked.

"I am. There is no mistaking her."

"How far do you believe she would go to get her sister back, _ada_?" Legolas asked softly.

"We're talking about an _elleth_ who was attacked by a band of orcs and killed over three quarters before she was worn down. That was _before_ she was an assassin. Not only that, but she has fought for thousands of years to keep her sister alive. How far do _you_ think she'll go?"

From the top of the Citadel, Brona watched in passive silence as the King ordered a doubled guard. She could easily tell that no one knew it was a game. Even the players were warily unsure of her inentions. It was just as well; such a task was too easy. If given a shorter timeline, it may have been more difficult for her, but certainly not a challenge. Carefully, she scaled her way back down the tower, landing silently on the platform. Dressed in the black of night, she slid easily past the guards and into (she shuddered internally at the thought) the king's bathing chamber. The man enjoyed his privacy; it was obvious. He had seemed woefully angry at the guards that continued to linger even after she left, as if she were going to kill him instantly.

"What do you think made her come forward?" she heard the soft voice of Arwen Undomiel ask.

There was the question; why was Legolas the straw that broke her back? Brona herself had no answer to it. From seeing Pip on the way to the city to getting caught by the Rohirrim, the whole assignment had felt wrong. Something about the way Ohtar had dismissed her made her feel as if she were destined to fail. And, upon seeing the prince in her mind's eye, she couldn't help how her breath caught in her chest. He was beautiful; more so than his father had been, and Brona had asked his father if he was of the Valar. But, she sensed in him a kind of purity not many had. He was full of virtue and kindness, something Brona had not experianced in a long time. No matter who had asked her to kill him; Ohtar, her sister, or the king himself, Brona couldn't help but feel that she would never be able to murder such a beautiful, innocent being. Surely, she would have to kill herself afterward if she did.

"She said she'd never been asked to kill one of her own kind before. Perhaps that's it?" the King said, answering his betrothed's question.

"Should we bring some guards in... just in case?"

"I doubt she's been able to get this far."

Brona smirked and shrank into the shadows of the bathing chamber as the door opened, admiting the king... and his betrothed. Mentally, she groaned at the small, unfortunate oversight. However, she doubted highly that Arwen counted as a guard. Even so, she drew her second knife. She was about to rain on their parade.

When Aragorn and Arwen turned to begin lighting candles, Brona crept up softly behind them and placed the cold steel of her daggers against their throats in silence.

"I win," she said before stepping back respectfully and sheathing the knives. "Forgive me, Lady Arwen, but I have not nearly the amount of time I'm used to."

"I never expected an assassin to bow to me after having supposedly killed my husband," Arwen said softly. "Although it is deadly, one cannot help but admire the kind of skill you possess. It would be as if no one was around if you were his guard."

"Until the trouble happened. Then whoever was attacking would wish they had never been born," Brona replied softly, but she wasn't looking at the elven maiden. Instead, her eyes were locked with the king, and a subtle kind of danger was floating behind them. She had the nagging suspicion he wanted her to do one more trick for him.

"How skilled are you with the bow?" Aragorn asked finally.

"You wish me to challenge the elf prince?" Brona asked in return, seeing where the discussion was heading.

"No. I want you to knock my friend off his high horse," Aragorn said, smiling.

_Why? Why, oh why, oh why did I get involved in this? And why do I get this warming sensation in the pit of my belly when they smile at me?_ Brona asked herself silently. She was, in a word, fuming. Making friends out of the people she was supposed to be protecting was not part of the arangement, and, yet, it was strangely nice. The sensation made her feel fuzzy and warm on the inside, something she hadn't felt in a long time. However, she pushed it to the back as Aragorn set up targets. The challenge; split eight arrows from notch to tip between two whistles. Brona had done worse damage in less time. The prince; she wasn't so sure about him.

"On your mark," Aragorn shouted. Less than a second later, the whistle blew and Brona unleashed her skill. Before the second whistle even blew, eight arrows were clustered about the bull's eye and all eight were split clean in two. Legolas, she could see, was struggling to split the last one.

When the shrill whistle sounded, the eighth arrow remained unbroken.

"_Taispeain Dea_," Brona said softly, heading over to him. "Your form is excellent, Prince. It's your concentration that is lacking. What's wrong?"

"For an assassin, you're very aware of other's feelings," Legolas spat. Brona ignored the venom.

"One's feelings affect how they perform everyday tasks. If you are angry, you tend to make mistakes. If you are happy, you tend to focus more on what you are doing. Your mood and thoughts affect your archery and you, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, are angry. Your mistake was losing focus. What would cause so excellent an archer to lose that which is most important?" Brona said softly, circling him like a hawk.

Legolas was becoming mesmerized. The sound of her voice, like smooth velvet over warm, supple skin, was almost as intoxicating as the aroma she was giving off. However, the aroma was tinged slightly with the stentch of...

"Orc. You smell like orc," Legolas said, grabbing her by her shoulders. "Orc blood is used to dye hair. It's the most potent substance there is for turning one's hair a different color. Now, why would that be?"

"When you are an assassin, changing identities swiftly is the greatest trait you possess. I was given bleaching soaps long ago and forced to dye my hair white. On the way, I gave myself a homecoming present," Brona said softly, but her eyes were downcast. "Does it really smell that bad?"

Legolas's eyes went wide as he looked at her. An assasssin, caring about the way they smelled?

"If need be, I have the soaps to bleach it back," Brona offered, her eyes tracing the patterns of the courtyard.

"Legolas; let go," Aragorn said, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "She had the chance to kill me and she did not take it. She had the chance to turn her bow on you and did not take it."

"How many chances do we need to give her? She's confessed that she's a killer; what more do we need from her?"

Brona's eyes snapped upward and anger flared within her. Normally, it was no problem to quelch it before it could start a fire within her, but, that day, rather than allowing her anger to fade, she allowed it to rise and fill her from her head to her toes. She drew from the sheath on her arm a single blade as Legolas turned away. With perfect timing, she rushed him. Legolas's eyes went wide as he fell flat on his back with the light elf on top of him, the blade to his throat.

"You wanna see killer?" she asked darkly. "I could easily gut you like a pig right now. I could tear you apart and not think twice. Would you like to know why I won't?"

Legolas could barely nod with the knife so tight to his throat.

"You're not worth it. You'll never be worth it," Brona hissed. "Spoiled princlings like you aren't worth the trouble. It would take a thousand of you to equal my sister. And, I feel sorry for you."

"Why should _you_ pity _me_?" Legolas hissed.

"Because _your_ life has but one purpose; to end."

"And I assume your purpose is to continue?"

"My purpose is to prevent your life and his life from ending."


	4. Chapter Three First Assignment

Chapter Three- First Assignment

_Your enemy is always alive until he draws his last breath. If you leave him for dead and he does not die but attacks you with more ferocity, you will be unprepared. You must always be wary for dying does not mean dead and shouldn't be able to attack does not mean is not able to attack_; Ohtar's second lesson after the creed. For three days and three nights, Ohtar had pushed her to her limits and beyond, forcing her to attack him when she could barely stand. No rest, no relaxation; the only certainty was death.

Brona did a cautious back flip off of Legolas, her blade drawn still just in case he should choose to attack her. She kept a respectfully cautious distance between them as she noticed Thranduil come sweeping out of the king's quarters. He came to a sudden stop as his son stood up, holding his hand to his neck. When Legolas pulled away there was the barest amount of blood on his hands. He looked up to glare at her, only to realize that his friends were glaring at him. He gestured to her defensively, but they continued to glare.

"She would have killed me if you weren't standing here watching her," Legolas hissed.

"Is that what you know or what you think?" Aragorn asked, venom lacing his every word. "She apologized to Arwen earlier for putting a knife to her throat. She could have killed the both of us, left us for dead and moved on to you, but she didn't. When the guards were distracted, trying to keep her away from me, she easily could have come after you. She didn't. What kind of assassin wouldn't use her every available advantage to kill her mark? One seeking redemption."

Thranduil placed his hands on his son's shoulders, forcing him to look up. "Have I not always told you that there is good in all things, my son? She was an elf destined to be a warrior once and that path was stolen from her. Now she has the skills to be so much more than just another warrior. Would you steal that path from her, too, just because she did terrible things in the name of love?"

Legolas lowered his eyes, feeling very much like a little elfling. He couldn't help but feel that she was hiding something from them, simply by the way she refused to meet anyone's eyes. The only time she did, they were either cold, emotionless orbs or, recently, filled with anger. How someone devoid of all emotion could love was beyond him, but, if she really had been killing for so many years just for her sister, it was easy to see how devoted she was.

Thranduil removed his hands, having successfully gotten his son thinking, and turned to Brona. "I thought I had lost you, _elleth_," he whispered softly.

Brona dropped to one knee, her head bowed. "Lord Thranduil," she whispered, reverance in her voice.

"You needn't bow to me, Brona," Thranduil said, kneeling beside her. "You are a servant of Gondor now; a protector to the king of men."

"Swear an oath of fealty," Legolas said suddenly. "Swear an oath to Aragorn and I will never question your motives again."

"There is something I must do first if we are to perform this ruse," Brona said as she rose.

"What is that?"

"Ohtar long ago connected his mind to mine. I have been able to block the connection for some time, but he uses it to determine proof of death. If I am to get my sister, I must provide proof of death for the prince."

"You intend to use the Hirshow Poison?" Thranduil asked.

"Yes, but I must make it look like I drowned him. That is the manner of death set forth in the contract."

"Wait, wait; what is the Hirshow Poison?" Legolas asked incredulously.

"It is a plant based poison that mimics death right down to the bluish tint to your lips and eye lids. It takes an hour to take effect and the antidote takes another hour to take effect. It should be no longer than two and a half hours total for the whole process," Brona said softly.

"How do you intend to make it look like you drowned me?"

"I'll give you the poison. Fifteen minutes before the full effect takes over, draw yourself a bath. I then proceed to 'drown' you after I've opened up the link. I'll provide him with proof of death and walk out while your father administers the antidote!" Brona said excitedly. "This is the first good, organized plan I've had in awhile, so I'm sorry if I seem a little happy."

"That will be sufficient for getting your sister out?" Aragorn asked.

"It's the promised price for the prince's death."

"And how do you close out the link entirely?"

"I'll sever it after I've gotten my sister. I'll have to leave directly after we 'kill' the prince. It wouldn't do to linger. I'll come right back, though, I promise," Brona said, a kind of happiness filling her enough that she floated on air, so to speak.

"Should I have the guards put on a chase?" Aragorn offered, a smile playing on his lips.

"Probably. And you should probably have them searching for me the day of. Ohtar told me to stay here if I wasn't discovered, so he'll find it suspicious if I come back and there have been no warning signs."

"What makes you think he'd know if you hadn't been discovered?" Legolas asked, intrigued.

"I'm not the only assassin he has. I'm the most skilled because I bear no loyalty or alligeance to him, therefore I've been able to expand my skill sets whereas others would not defy him."

The next day, hundreds of miles away in the blue mountain range in the northern Shire, Ohtar Balario of the Greenwood elves found the link between his star assassin and himself unfogging quickly. He could catch snatches of conversation between her and the prince, the prince who had long ago robbed him of any chances he might have had with the assassin he had trained. Thranduil had promised _his_ assassin to his son before Ohtar had had the chance to negotiate a dowry for the girl.

_"What's it like in Mirkwood?"_

_ "It's beautiful, but I'm certain it can't compare with the Shire, m'lady."_

Ohtar could catch an image in his mind of the two of them, robed, headed to the public bathing room. It was late, and they could both tell the bathing pools were empty. As the fog cleared, Ohtar smiled. She had met the prince at the gates and they had struck up a conversation on the way up the tower. She had offered to accompany him to the baths like the innocent little girl she was. In Ohtar's mind, a thousand images of the prince forcing himself on her took over, and he shot a warning across their link.

_He is an elf, yes, but even elves are capable of great evil. Do not let your guard down._

_ I know, Ohtar._

Ohtar watched calmly as she waited until he had sunk into the baths before taking off her robe, revealing her to be garbed entirely in black. She crept up behind him, carefully making no noise. Silently, she shoved his head under the water, just as the contract had provided. She brought him up slightly once, and Ohtar assumed that she would not have the guts or the strength to hold him down. He did not see the prince tip his head calmly back, despite his thrashing arms, and take a deep breath of air, holding it. When he went limp, she pulled him out of the water and checked his pulse.

_It is done_.

With the link successfully closed off, Brona called in Aragorn and Thranduil, who were carrying the small bottle of antidote. Silently, she checked his pulse again. It was very faint, but existent, meaning that if you weren't desperately searching for it or if you hadn't known the effect of the poison you would have missed it. Brona was both desperately searching for it and knew the effect of the poison. Although her performance had a practiced finesse to it, panic had been brewing in her mind as she worried over whether he would live and whether she would be caught.

"Go, Brona," Thranduil said softly. "Or this shall have been for naught."

"His heart stopped for about thirty seconds before it started again. I think he thought I wasn't going to let him up for air," she said as she pulled herself off the floor. "Tell him I'm sorry I couldn't stay for him to wake up. I'll thank him in person when I get back."

No one in Minas Tirith would see Brona for a full three months.

"Why would she lie, Aragorn?" Arwen asked softly, her voice carrying with it a small ounce of fear. "Think about it for a second; we saw what she could do when angry or provoked. We observed enough of her in the two days she was here to see that. If her master's spies caught her performing for us, it would have been too easy to report the observations."

"Legolas was certain she was hiding something. Come to think of it, it looked like she was, but I was too scared to push."

"Aragorn! We need your help!" Legolas cried, bursting into the room. His hands and arms were covered in a thick layer of blood.

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

"They discovered Brona outside the gates on a horse. Her sister was with her, but they're both badly wounded. They need your skill."

Aragorn headed silently and swiftly out to the Houses of Healing, rolling his sleeves up as he went.

"Describe their injuries for me."

"We couldn't find any visible injuries and Brona was brandishing a sword at us every time we came near her sister. Sein was able to describe what happened for us, however. Brona came back to the Blue Mountain stronghold and demanded Sein be released. As soon as she was what she believed was a safe distance outside the mountains, she snapped the bond between her and Ohtar. He, according to Sein, howled with rage and came after them faster than even a warg. Brona made it all the way to the Gap of Rohan before he caught them. She refused to talk about the rest," Legolas said. "I can only assume, from what she described when we spoke of her allegiances, that he tortured them and left them for dead, which defies logic."

"Why?"

"Brona's second lesson; dying does not mean dead and shouldn't be able to fight doesn't mean is not able to fight," Legolas whispered. "We talked a lot before she opened her link to him as we were walking to the baths. She was hoping to relax me and it worked very well."

"She has a story-teller's voice."

"Legolas!" came a small voice. Pippin ran around the corner, and the elf stooped to pick him up lightly. They were walking too quickly for Pippin to keep up and both man and elf knew it.

"What is it, little one?"

"That woman in the Houses of Healing; her name is Dunmhari. What happened to her?"

"Her name is Brona, Pippin," Legolas said. "And we don't know what happened to her."

"I don't know what you guys saw but the red haired woman's name is Dunmhari. The other one is Sein," Pippin said darkly.

"How do you know her, Pippin?" Aragorn asked.

"She comes to the Green Dragon sometimes. We've talked a lot about stuff. She's a healer too; this one time, a little girl was carried in by her dad. She'd fallen out of a tree and broke her arm. Dunmhari set it and everything. She even came to check on the little girl. Of course, she's an elf, so naturally she's very caring but... why are you looking at me like I'm crazy?"  
>"Three months ago, that woman came to us. She told us that she was an assassin who had been assigned to kill Legolas. She said her name was Brona. She put on a ruse to make her master think she'd killed Legolas so she could get her sister. She left, and just now came back."<p>

"An... an assassin?" Pippin asked softly. "But... she was so kind. She treated me for..."

Pippin trailed off, causing Aragorn to pause. Looking into the young hobbit's eyes, he understood what it was. "War trauma?" he asked softly.

Pippin nodded. "She was always gentle but firm. She made me lay off the ale for a whole three months and then, she would get me to talk about all of it... the journey, it's effect on me, all that stuff. She cared for me, even if she was slow to trust."

"Every person has to have a vent; a place to show emotions they would show no one else. I think you may have been hers. The fact that she trusted you enough to show you those emotions tells me that you are very dear to her Pippin."

"I don't think she ever lied to me, Aragorn. She refused to talk about what she did. She'd tell me where she went, but never what she did while she was there. She'd even talk about her home. She promised to show me it one day. She said it was in the mountains and she still had to clean out some evil things, but she'd take me there when she was done."

"I'm going to need your help, Pippin, but you must do exactly what I say. Can you do that?"

Pippin nodded resolutely and Legolas sat him down on Brona's bed.

Three hours later, both Sein and Brona were tightly bandaged and doing well. Sein was awake and eating vigorously, but Aragorn was still hovering at Brona's bed side. Pippin sat at the end, tears in his eyes. He kept reaching out to touch her and yanking his hand back before he could, afraid of upsetting her. Aragorn had easily pieced together the torture the sisters had endured. Brona had a broken wrist, a fractured ankle, six missing fingernails, extensive second and third degree burns covering half her body, a great deal of cuts ranging from superficial to down to the bone, and, if Aragorn hadn't missed his guess, she had been raped as well. Sein was much better off, although she had still been wounded. She had a few fractured ribs, some first and second degree burns, and some deep cuts that would have bled out had they been left unattended. It appeared, however, that Brona had been able to stop the worst of the bleeding long enough for her to ride to Minas Tirith. What wounds had already healed over, it was hard to tell.

"Pippin, it's alright. You can touch her," Aragorn said softly.

"I don't know if she'd want me to. Whenever she was around me, she kept a kind of a cushion around her. If she ever went to hug me or even touch my shoulder, she'd hesitate."

"I think you're the only one she trusts enough to touch her right now, Pippin, and I need her awake. I didn't find any damage to her skull, but I need her awake to be sure."

Nodding once, Pippin crawled up beside her and sat himself squarely on her right side, the side that had the least burn damage. "Dunmhari... Wake up," he said softly, touching her shoulder. He shook her lightly, trying not to jostle any of her injuries. Without warning, her arms came up, wrapping aorund Pippin. She pulled him down beside her like a pillow and curled over him.

"Won't let him touch you. Won't let him hurt you. No worries. Safe in city," she mumbled.

"Brona; can you hear me?" Aragorn asked, sitting down.

Her eyes snapped open and she tried to sit up. With surprising force, the hobbit in her arms shoved her back down. "You're not allowed to move," Pippin hissed. "You're hurt and I had to help and you tear out any of the stitches and I'll box your ears just like you did to me when I fell out of the tree onto those rocks."

Brona smiled weakly before kissing the hobbit chastely on the forehead. She then diverted her attention to Aragorn. "Is Sein alright? I tried to stop the bleeding but my wrist... I had to work with my left hand, so the bandaging wasn't very tight."

"You did well, Brona," Aragorn said softly. "How much do you remember?"

"Everything. He... he was going to do what he did to me to my sister... she's already been through so much... I couldn't let him get to her. I had to keep him occupied," Brona said, dropping her eyes slightly. When she returned them to Aragorn's, her gaze was firey. "She _is_ alright, right?"

"Sister, worry about yourself for once!" Sein called from her bed between mouthfuls.

"She's quite the spitfire. I can see how you're related," Aragorn chuckled.

"And... Legolas... he... he was alright, wasn't he? I... I didn't hold him under too long?" she asked, unconciously pulling Pippin tighter.

"I'm fine," Legolas said, pulling up a chair by her bedside.

"You won't be for long. He ripped through my mind and pulled all my memories. He knows you're alive," Brona said softly. "I couldn't stop him. I was already beginning to lose conciousness; it took little to tear down my defenses. If he had tried earlier I could have kept him out... I'm... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It took courage to defy him; courage I didn't know an assassin could have. My father was right; you would have been a great warrior."

"What were you hiding before you left, Brona? There was something you weren't telling us," Aragorn said softly, reaching out to brush a stray hair from across her eyes.

"I... I don't know that I should be the one to tell you," Brona said softly, looking at Legolas. She heard the door burst open and saw Thranduil sprint in. He stopped, taking in the fact that both _elleths_ were safe and out of harm's way. When he saw the look on her face, he knew what they had been talking about. Smiling, he nodded encouragingly. "When your father bonded to your mother, he came to my father. He told them that he wanted... wanted me to... to bond with you, although he knew not when. They had just negotiated the terms of my stay at the palace when... when Sein and I..."

Legolas turned questioning eyes to his father, who smiled softly, almost nostalgically. "I had the hope that you would find her to your liking when you came along. She would have made a great warrior, and I would have invited the best teachers to train her. Then, she could have trained you. And, I hoped, you would fall in love. I wasn't going to press you into it, but I wanted to be sure that she would not be taken when you were of age."

Brona's eyes drifted downward, and she, too, wore a nostalgic smile. "When my father told me, I would spend hours in the trees around my home imagining what you would look like. I always thought you would look like your father, but... I imagined you fairer. I pictured you as beautiful, maybe a strong archer or swordsman. I hoped you would love me."

Legolas's eyes snapped to hers, and she flushed all the way to her ears.

"Until three months ago, I had forgotten all about that promise."

Aragorn, Pippin, and Thranduil shared a knowing smile before they headed over to sit with Sein. Brona's eyes widened as they headed away, and she wanted to scramble away from Legolas. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she felt herself sink into the mattress, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Do you still believe in that promise?" Legolas asked.

Brona's eyes snapped open and she looked to him, pulling herself up onto her elbows. "Why? I'm a killer, remember."

"What you did in the past was in the name of freedom and love. And, regardless, I've killed as well. That, in all honesty, matters little. My only fear was that you would kill me, and you didn't. Not completely, anyway," Legolas chuckled. "You did what you had to do to survive and there is no shame in that."

"Just because I killed in the name of freedom does not mean I did not enjoy the prospect of holding life and death in my hands and it does not mean you should forget that I am little more than a weapon," Brona said darkly. "I would not wish to hurt you."

Legolas pulled himself onto her bed, causing her to shrink away just a little. He knew he was invading her comfort zone, but he did not wish her to waste away into nothingness because of such thoughts. He leaned forward, pinning her to the pillows with his proximity. "You would not hurt me. It would hurt me more to hear such bleak words from someone so beautiful."

Brona's eyes widened slightly. She had only been called beautiful by Ohtar, and that had been meant to anger her. Her eyes drifted to his steely blues as she felt her breath leave her. He was close, so much more so than he had been seconds ago, and all she would have to do would be to lean up slightly, and she could claim his lips for her own. Before she could puzzle out what he was planning, Legolas pressed his lips firmly against hers. It was a chaste kiss, meant only to test the waters, but Brona felt her heart leap and she could do little else but kiss back.

Legolas pulled away, smiling. "If I allow you to get too raucous, I shall be unceremoniously kicked out by your healer," he said softly. Brona returned his smile before scooting over and rolling onto her side, a blatant invitation to invade her space further by lying down. The young prince obliged, and Brona curled up in his embrace, safe and sound.

"Your first assignment as a member of my guard; get well," Aragorn whispered as he closed the door behind him, smiling as his patients both fell asleep.

_AN: Ok, so war trauma, PTSD, whatever you want to call it. Maybe Pip had it. Maybe he didn't. For my purposes, he did!_


	5. Chapter Four Wounded But Not Dead

_**Ok, so between the fictional squad of assassins I was threatened with two chapters ago and the haunting by the "ghost of coolness," I figured it can't hurt to update. I want to thank all of my lovely reviewers out in the world, and for the many story alert, favorite author, and favorite story alert emails I've gotten in the past… week-ish. They are much appreciated and make me feel very special. **_

* * *

><p>Chapter Four- Wounded (But Not Dead)<p>

Three weeks after the eventful arrival of Brona and Sein in Minas Tirith found the sisters very frustrated. Sein and Brona's frustrations stemmed from the same source; Aragorn Elessar, king of Men, and, to a lesser extent, Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood. Brona wanted to test out her fractured ankle. She was getting tired of lying in bed, unable to move under the vigerous supervision of Legolas and Aragorn. She was getting tired of Legolas spoon feeding her rather than letting her eat on her own. In general, she was getting tired of having been reduced to an elfling again. Legolas claimed it was for her own good, but Brona wasn't so sure that he wasn't enjoying himself just a bit. And so, dawn found her arguing again.

"I can't just sit here. Even Aragorn has admitted that it's on the mend and I could walk on it if I'm careful," Brona growled. "Even Sein is walking again, and she hasn't been up out of the dungeons in a thousand years."

"Sein does not have a fractured ankle to contend with," Legolas replied, growing slightly frustrated with the constant arguing. He knew it wasn't healthy for her to be so intent on walking with how much she had to be hurting, but telling her that being hurt meant she had to stay would make her feel weak. At least, that was what Legolas thought.

"Legolas, fractured does not mean broken. I can even move it around, see?" As if to illustrate her point, she rolled her fractured ankle. Legolas, however, wasn't looking at the ankle. He was instead observing her reaction. She didn't even flinch at the movement, something which he found quite odd. Legolas brushed a stray hair from her face and pulled her close.

"Does that not hurt?" he asked softly.

"Why would it? It's _healed_," Brona replied. "Doesn't the lack of pain usually mean that it's healed?"

"That would depend upon your pain tolerance," Aragorn said, coming into the room with a roll of gauze bandages. He was closely followed by Pippin, who was smiling merrily and talking to Sein. Brona had noticed that the hobbit seemed quite taken with her younger, smaller sister, and vice versa. However, Pippin looked at Sein (they were almost the same height) with a kind of reverance that surprised her, and she wasn't sure how to take it. Aragorn's voice brought her back out of her reverie. "As an assassin, you must have a very high one."

Brona nodded once with a frown. "But... I can still move it!" she said, her other argument gone.

"That you can, which is why you're going to be allowed out of here today, but I want you to stick close to Legolas and you'll be on a cane," Aragorn replied. "Also, I want you to be extra careful not to stumble or fall as you could refracture the ankle, or even shatter it."

Brona watched as Pippin produced a cane from the corner and walked over to Aragorn. He handed it to the man, who held it out for Brona. She lunged for it, and he pulled it out of her reach, looking at her expectantly. She dove for it again with a huff and a glare. He pulled it away, smiling as Legolas held her in the bed. She crossed her arms and glared at him, very much like a two year old. Pippin hid behind Sein, a smile on his face, as the elf began to laugh at her sister. She turned her glare to the standing woman, lunging for her only to be held back by Legolas.

"I promise," she huffed finally, her need to walk out-weighing her pride. Aragorn smiled and Brona snatched the cane, immediately standing up. Her knees almost came out from under her, and she was suddenly very glad for both the cane and Legolas. Vertigo seized her, and she froze immediately.

"Are you alright?" Legolas asked, panic edging into his voice. "This was a bad idea."

"I'm fine," she said finally, standing up fully, albeit slowly. "Vertigo; that's all."

"How does your ankle feel?" Aragorn asked.

Silently, Brona allowed some of her weight to drift onto her leg. She felt the muscles twitch, and a flare of what should have been mild pain but was nothing more than her adapted mind telling her that she was wounded. She didn't even wince as she allowed most of her weight to drop on the fractured ankle.

"_If_ I were normal, it would be a dull ache... I imagine," Brona said softly.

"So it isn't registering?" Aragorn asked, intrigued.

"I know when I'm wounded, even if I can't feel the pain. There's only 'pain' when I put weight on it," Brona replied.

"It's probably because the mucles aren't used to supporting you. Try walking around for the next few days. If it's still hurting, persay, I want you to come to me," Aragorn said.

She smiled and grabbed Legolas's arm. "Well, I wanted to see the gardens."

"Is she wearing you out yet?" Arwen asked softly, sitting down on the bench next to her friend. Legolas opened his weary eyes silently, his expression one of tired satisfaction. It had been two days since Brona had been given leave to walk, and Legolas could swear she'd drug him to Moria and back. She was always moving, never slowing, even at night. The night before, Aragorn had had to threaten to tie her to the bed if she didn't sleep. She had harrumphed, muttering something about letting him have a close call just to get back at him, but laid down. While she had gone to sleep almost instantly, Legolas had been awake long into the night, wondering about something he hadn't quite thought about. As his thoughts turned that way again, Arwen noticed. "What is wrong, Legolas?"

"I... She's still bound and determined to become Aragorn's personal bodyguard. It's a full time job. She'll be sleeping next to your chambers, following him around, fighting for him. If and when Aragorn launches a campaign to take back the lands of yore, she'll be in and out of the danger zone," Legolas said softly, worry tinging his tone.

"Is it that you don't think you can handle it or that you don't know that she can?" Arwen asked.

"... It's not that I don't think I can handle it... and I know she can handle it... I'm just... worried, I guess," Legolas admitted sheepishly, making sure that Brona was a ways away.

"Now that you've found her, you don't want to lose her," Arwen surmised.

"I get the sense that she... she's always on the go. Call it a hunch," he said, chuckling lightly to cover his inner struggle.

"So are you," Arwen replied. Her wise eyes turned to the door as Aragorn stepped out, lighting his pipe and heading toward the bench where his wife and friend sat. Brona's head shot up from the rose bush she was examining and her eyes locked on the embers. She hobbled over as fast as she could, knowing that if she sprinted Legolas would proceed to beat her within an inch of her life.

"Is that..." she said, sniffing deeply, "Awe, it isn't."

"Isn't what?" Legolas asked, his brow raised in a questioning glance.

"Old Toby," Brona replied, "Finest weed in the South Farthing."

"Perhaps I can help you there," said a soft, vaguely familiar voice. Brona spun on her non-wounded foot and smiled at the sight of curly hair stomach high. She smiled at Frodo, looking down at the thick pouch in his hands. "Pippin sent a letter back asking for Old Toby. He said he was going to head into Ithilien to find you."

Brona froze, hearing her lie reitterated. Her eyes found the floor as her smile faded slightly.

"You weren't going to Ithilien, were you," Frodo said softly. "Gandalf said you weren't. He ranted and raved the whole way about irresponsible elves and their desperate lies, begging your pardon. He seemed... rather angry."

"I imagine he was," Brona said softly, her smile brightening a little. "I had to... take care of some things here and then get my sister... who Pippin seems quite taken with."

"She was your sister?" Frodo asked, although his calm tone was betrayed by the bugging of his eyes. "But he was-"

Frodo cut off abruptly, and Brona whorled again at the sound of Legolas's laughter. She narrowed her eyes and hobbled over to him dangerously. She planted a knee on either side and rose up above him, causing him to gulp as he felt the point of a knife against his rib cage. "What. Do. You. Know. About. My. Sister?" she said darkly, every word punctuated sharply by the point of her knife. Granted, what Legolas didn't know was that it was still incased in the hard leather sheath, but what he didn't know didn't hurt him.

"I-I... Pippin and Sein were... They're going to..." Legolas stuttered. "They''llbesafehere!"

"One more time, a little slower," Brona said, barely able to conceal her smile.

"They're getting engaged and Pippin wants to get a home in Minas Tirith so she'll be safe here," Legolas breathed, saying it as slow as he dared.

Brona pressed a chaste, loving kiss to his lips and got off the bench. "Come with me so I can find my sister," she said, shoving the sheathed knife back into her cloak. Legolas spared an angry glare at her before taking her arm and heading into the palace in silence.

By the time they reached Sein's chambers, loud laughter was ringing out of them, and Brona didn't even bother knocking before opening the door, startling her sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law. They jumped apart, and Brona smiled warmly. A little stiffly (and accompanied by a lot of cursing) she sat down cross legged on the floor in front of them and, without a word, she looked at Sein intently, seeing through her sister's defenses like only she could. She could have gleaned everything she needed to know with that simple stare.

"Is this what you want?" she asked her sister softly, taking the young woman's hand in hers.

Sein looked sheepish for a moment, as if afraid to voice any answer, but a part of her knew that Brona was testing the waters with her response. She'd only ever had Sein to worry about, and the young _elleth_ knew it. "Yes," she said, her voice unwavering.

Brona turned silently to Pippin, her piercing gaze making the young hobbit almost shrink away, but he refused. He met it unwaveringly, sensing, like Sein, that it was all a test.

"Is this what _you_ want?" she asked him quietly.

"Yes," Pippin said without a moment's pause, but he broke his gaze to look at Sein. "If she'll have me."

Brona's lips spread into a wide smile as she dove on her sister, uncaring of Legolas's scolding look. The two fell back onto the floor and wrestled for a moment before Brona came out on top with a smile. "The next question is of gravest importance," she said, her face becoming stern again.

Sein looked up at her questioningly.

"You'll let me help plan it, right?"

Brona hobbled her way down the hall silently, without Legolas or Arwen (who had taken to hovering around her as well in the past eight hours) to help her. She was doing perfectly fine on her own, but it was the furthest thing from her mind. Slowly but surely, the "pain" she felt in her ankle was starting to leave her mind. That meant she was on the mend, leaving her with an important matter to discuss with Gondor's king. She just hoped that going to his bed chambers before dinner wasn't too untoward.

Quietly, she made it to the chamber where the heaviest guard was posted; four well trained Gondorians stood at their posts beside the door and across the hall, every one of them ready to rush in and give their life for the king if the situation called for it. Nodding to them, she raised her hand to knock and held it there for a second, thinking about the conversation she was about to have. Legolas wouldn't be happy, that was for certain. She had heard his earlier concerns in the garden, but she now owed the king a life debt not easily repaid. The only thing she could do was offer her services. She brought her fist to the door twice and stepped back a respectful distance, holding equal parts of her weight on both feet to test the waters one last time.

The door slipped open, and Aragorn looked gave her a look of mild surprise that quickly turned to concern.

"Is something wrong?" Aragorn asked. "What has happened to cause you to look so grave?"

"I have an important matter I wish to discuss, and, for courtesy's sake, I'd rather not discuss it in front of anyone but you," she said with a respectful bow.

"Of course," Aragorn said, relaxing a little. "Perhaps a walk to soothe your nerves?"

Brona nodded her head once and began to shamble along beside the king. She still walked with a slight limp, but had abandoned the cane in favor of her own two feet instead. So far, it was working quite well.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Legolas doesn't know you're here," Aragorn said finally as they reached the furthest bench in the gardens.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to keep it that way for a while," she said softly.

"If this has something to do with your joining my guard, it is still too soon for you to do so," Aragorn replied darkly.

"If you treat me as a wee babe, my lord, I fear you will find that I can act like one very well. You need only ask Pippin; I can throw very excellent tantrums," Brona said, her tone respectful, but balancing precariously on the dangerous borderline of anger. "If you hadn't noticed already, I'm a terrible patient. I know that. For the last six thousand years, it has been simply bandage and go. As you can see, I've healed very well. If you leave me to my own devices, you will find that I do not possess much patience, either. Constant motion has always been my greatest ally."

"You are pronouncing yourself healed?" Aragorn asked.

"I am pronouncing myself fit to begin my duties here, my lord, beginning with the oath of fealty," Brona replied softly.

"And you wish me to keep this from Legolas because..."

"He is concerned, my lord," the _elleth_ said, but her eyes were downcast, having lost the fire of determination and anger.

"Concerned for your well being?"

Brona nodded. "I do not think he understands what it is that you have done for me. I owe you my life; a debt I do not intend to leave idly. It will be repaid, in full if necessary."

"I admire your determination, but I have hundreds of guards willing to throw themselves in front of an arrow for me," Aragorn said, although his anger at this thought was apparent.

"But you have none that would be able to fire back. You have none that can follow you in the city streets without your knowledge, who can assess threats. You have none who you can send to gather information from the four corners of the world, who would be back before nightfall on the second day with more information than two days worth of reading could cover. You have none who are both guard and strategist, faithful and versed well in tactics. You have none who would carry as many weapons as I and never be noticed in a crowded street. I have spent six thousand years learning to blend in; to be ignored. You will never have a guard as invisible as I," she said firmly.

"And you would foresake everything just to be my guard?" Aragorn asked softly.

Brona took a deep breath. It was a question she'd been dreading, but one she easily knew the answer to. "If you are asking if I would give up my love of Legolas, the answer is yes... and no. I would never be able to stop loving him, but I would feign it to take the target from him."

"For one who has already given so much, you wish to bestow a greater gift than any has ever offered. I must admit that a silent, invisible body guard would be nice," Aragorn said softly. "And you are certain of this decision?"

"I am, my lord," Brona said, her voice unwavering and powerful.

"Next week, you shall take the oath. But I implore you to use that time to explain your reasoning to Legolas," Aragorn said softly. "I would not ask you to give him up, but the situation may call for less time spent with him."

Brona nodded silently, although in her heart she knew it would not be easy.

Legolas shot out of his light doze, a fearful name upon his lips. He looked around for her, knowing that she had been by the fire when he had last checked. Instead, he found no one in his chambers. Not even Arwen, who had been coaxing stories galore out of her, remained, although the scent of the pipe Brona had been smoking had been left behind. He heard, at the edge of his mind, the sound of approaching footsteps, but they were not accompanied by the thump of a cane so he thought nothing of it. Jumping out of the chair, he began to root around the room, looking for her desperately, ignoring the door when it opened.

Brona smiled softly at the sight of Legolas, on his hands and knees, looking under the bed. Shutting the door behind her, she limped over to the chair by the fire and took a seat, patiently waiting for him to realize that she was back. He went through the entire chamber before turning around sharply to see her sitting in the chair, a smug smile on her face and her legs pulled up into the seat with her arms around them. He put one hand on either arm of the chair and leaned down darkly, a look of scolding on his face.

"Where were you?" he asked, and Brona would not have been surprised to see fire in his eyes if not for the worry he saw there instead.

"I went to speak with Aragorn," she said, unable to lie to him. "You were sleeping so peacefully and it was only a few halls over. I didn't want to wake you."

"Did Arwen accompany you?" Legolas asked.

"No. I went alone," she answered.

"What did you talk about?"

Brona bit back a scornful reply, knowing that it was now or never. "We spoke of my service to Gondor, not yet rendered," she said softly.

Legolas's muscles gave way and he sat down hard on the floor. It had been his hope that she had given up the idea of becoming the King's personal body guard in favor of some other task that was far less dangerous and demanding. He felt her slide behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling his head back to rest on her chest, but he garnered no comfort from her embrace. Tears sprung at his eyes as a thousand different scenarios played out in her mind.

"And what about when he is dead and his son takes the throne?" Legolas asked. "What about when his son is dead and his grandson takes the throne? When will it end?"

Brona spun him around to face her, determination to make him understand written on her face. "You do not understand what he has given to me, _melleth-nin_. When I walked into the palace nigh on four months ago, I knew the chances were slim that I would ever see Sein again. Ohtar had sworn to me that in the event of my death, she would be released. I was not going to kill you, one way or another. He could have easily killed me, swept me aside with little resistance. I would have let him. Whether you died or not afterward was his problem. My sister would have been free. She would have gone to Pippin, just like I told her to. He would have taken care of her for me. My troubles would have ended there," she said softly. "But he gave me something I could not dare to hope for. He gave me another chance; a chance to take back what is mine. He gave me life."

"You would not have died," Legolas said softly.

"No," she replied. "But Sein would have. And I would sooner skewer myself than allow that. I'm selfish and I worked too hard to get her free for her to die without tasting happiness."

"So you would deny yourself the same?"

"For six thousand years, I have used skills that were designed to kill to do just that. Now I have the chance to turn that around and use them to give and prolong life," Brona said softly.

"And what should happen when he goes to war? Will you play the part you offered?"

"It would save the lives of those in Gondor," she said softly.

"And this... this is where your heart truly lies?"

"It is."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Ok, I know. Norri said it in Pirates, not Will, but I don't care. That's my shout out to my friends in PotC fanfiction. So... what's next for our (almost) redeemed assassin and her elven lover? Who knows? Perhaps the seeds of romance will blossom into something more? Or will this new development destroy any chance Brona has at dear old Legolas?**_


	6. Notice

NOTICE:

Okay, so I broke my flash-drive with all my files on it and dummy me never got around to backing the damn thing up. So, until I can afford to take it in and get it fixed or whatever, I'm going to _**attempt**_ to write from memory. I can't promise that I'll get all of the stories that I had up exactly the way that they are on the flash drive, which means that I may have to sit down and re-write them. I also can't promise that the flash drive will be fixed and data will be recoverable. In the event of this latter instance, I will finish from memory. And, who knows? Maybe this is a good thing. The thing was getting a little cluttered anyway…

Who the hell am I kidding?

Sorry for the inconvenience,

Midnight Rhymer & Management


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